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I wish I could read faster and not lose the details. I am a genuinely slow reader but I catch all the details. I like to become fully immersed in books. I don’t like to skim. I don’t know how to skim.
The reason I wish I could read faster is that I wish I could read more. Admittedly, I haven’t read many books in my life, especially when you look at some of my literature-loving peers.
I’m going home in a few days, but this time, it’s not as urgent as it was before. I now realize that no matter where I am, who I am surrounded by, whatever, I am going to be surrounded by mostly idle speech, mindless chatter, carelessness. And I’ll pretend to be that way too! But what I really want is to relate to people. The more I think about it, the more I want to listen to people, to mull things over and then maybe respond, maybe not. But it seems that so many people are not willing to talk in the way that I want them to. Or they’re just not capable of it.
There are a few people. I’ll give them that. And those few people are beyond capable. They mostly live and breathe the stuff that I need, and they also have to mask their disapproval of this way of living.
Also, I realized the other day that I should more fully appreciate the people in my life because I’ve chosen them and sought them out and allowed our relationships to flourish with time and tender care. It’s not coincidence, and I wouldn’t say that they’ve chosen me. I’ve chosen them back. I approve. That’s what’s mostly important. It’s a mutual thing with my consent. And without my consent, it’s nothing. Of course, without their consent, it’s also nothing. But I like to think that I choose people who could provide some compassion.
Probably the most difficult thing for me right now is realizing that I’m an adult, legally, but that this doesn’t sever any ties to my family. It only stresses my dependence on someone to tell me when I should get to bed and pack me a PB&J sandwich for lunch. I miss PB&J sandwiches.
I would also like to point out that the other day, a classmate pointed out to me that Australians are laughing at Americans for Ugg-wearage. They are the kind who wear Uggs to get the mail only; it is not a fashion statement and they would never wear them in public. Uggs are sweat-pants, and sweat-pants are another article of clothing that Americans abuse. I’m superficial sometimes. That’s all.
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